With the door now open, it was only a matter of time—perhaps seconds—before one or both of them would be bitten, stung, or scratched by one of the creatures. Peter grabbed the trailer door, which was still hanging from its padlock. Perhaps he could put it back in place. But as he pushed down on the lower half to straighten it up, the padlock broke free, and the door clattered onto the street. Within seconds, insects and several crab-like creatures were walking over it. And then another large insect flew into the room.
Peter and Georgia were out of options and out of luck.
Georgia swung the cabinet door at the insect, which had landed on the frame of the top bunk. Peter caught enough of a glimpse to see that it was gray and resembled a stout praying mantis, and then the thing was nothing more than splatters on the bed and wall.
“Don’t touch any of that. It doesn’t matter if it’s dead,” he said. He went back to the open doorway. “I don’t think we can get to your house.”
“The cab of the truck!” She exclaimed. “It’s still running.”
Peter blinked at her. He looked at the street, crawling with living things. He then looked up at the ceiling. Yes, it might be possible. He grabbed the loose cabinet and stood it on its end in the doorway. It was four feet tall, too tall to step up onto, so he stepped onto the lower bunk and hoisted himself onto the cabinet as Georgia held it steady. Standing on the cabinet with his head and shoulders outside the trailer, he was high enough to reach the lip of the trailer’s roof. Seconds later he had pulled himself up and was lying prone on the roof. He extended a hand down to Georgia.
“Can you get on the box?”
She was already working on this. Peter saw the cabinet rocking back and forth as she crawled onto it. Her head appeared through the door. She was able to turn her body enough to reach up with one hand and grab his. But then the box collapsed. It tumbled out onto the street and suddenly Georgia was dangling there, held only by Peter’s left hand.
He grunted and shifted his weight away from the edge to avoid being pulled off. He held out his right hand. “Grab ahold!”
She tried, but she was using her left hand to grasp his left. She had to cross her right hand over her left to grab his free hand. She managed to do this, but he tried pulling her up, he couldn’t get her high enough, and he couldn’t get to his knees with her weight pulling him down.
A wasp or some other insect buzzed around his head and actually tried to land in his hair. He flipped his head wildly. The buzzing stopped, but he couldn’t tell if the thing had flown off or had landed somewhere on his body. Regardless, he was powerless to do anything about it. His hands were starting to sweat, and he felt Georgia slipping from his grip.
“Swing me to the side!”
Peter strained his shoulders to pull her to one side. She used her feet to help him, and soon they had a steady rhythm going. On the fourth swing she threw her leg up and caught the edge of the roof with her foot. This took enough weight off Peter’s arms that he was able to gather his knees beneath him, allowing him to pull her up and onto the trailer.
He stood up and immediately turned away from her. “Is there anything on my back?”
After panting for a few seconds, she said, “Nothing is there. But there are things here on the roof. There, and there.”
Peter helped her to her feet. There were a few insects on the roof, but it was nothing like the street below. They moved to the front of the trailer. The gap between the trailer and the cab was about four feet. Peter exchanged a glance with Georgia and then leapt to the cab. He turned and held his arms out to her.
She said something, but the words were lost to the roar of a low-flying jet. He gestured for her to jump. She did, directly into his arms, knocking him off balance. They both fell onto the roof of the cab and slid down the windshield onto the engine hood. The hood was slanted, and Peter had to grab a windshield wiper to prevent them both from tumbling over the side. The surface was hot due to the engine having run all night. They got to their feet, but Georgia, wearing no shoes, was forced to lift one foot and then the other to avoid burning.
The truck’s driver must have left in a hurry, because the door was hanging open. Without saying a word, Georgia went straight for the open door, stepped on a narrow spot where it hinged to the cab, and worked her way into the driver seat.
Peter was right behind her. He stepped on the door’s hinge and started making his way around to the side of the cab by holding on to the large mirror.
He noticed a lumbering brown shape approaching the cab. He froze. The giant sloth that had been in Georgia’s yard had spotted him and was coming straight for him.
Georgia clambered over to the passenger seat. “Get in. Get inside!”
It was too late. Peter was only halfway around the edge, and the beast was already there. He held still. Perhaps if he didn’t move, it would wander off. It was an herbivore, after all. Wasn’t it?
Abruptly the creature raised up on its hind legs, again using its thick tail to steady itself. Peter assessed it from the corner of his eye. It was massive. How many men, women, or children had been killed, their bodies incorporated into this behemoth? It stood ten feet tall, and now its head was at the same level as Peter’s. For a moment it looked down at its own feet, apparently watching the myriad of smaller creatures crawling, hopping, and slithering on the ground. It even shuffled its feet to avoid things that were moving too close. But then it turned its attention to Peter.
With one foot still on the truck’s hood, Peter was not in a position to jump quickly into the cab. So he held as still as he could. He even closed his eyes to hide their involuntary, panicked movement. He sensed the sloth’s face inches from his ear. It sniffed, and he felt the movement of air as it sucked in his scent. Moist lips smacked. Its tongue moved about with the sound of a sloshing bucket of goo. Peter felt the tongue lightly touch the tips of his hair.
“Easy, mate,” he said, as soothingly as he could manage. “I’m not a threat to you, and I’m not something to eat.”
The thing snorted in return, blowing wet mist onto Peter’s cheek. He opened his eyes. The sloth’s snout was less than a foot away. “Easy, mate.”
The creature was gazing at him with brown eyes that seemed too small for such a massive head. Perhaps the sloth was only curious about him. But of course that didn’t matter. Whether it licked his face or tore his head off, the result would likely be the same—transformation into something nonhuman.
“Easy,” he said again. He turned to the truck and slowly, methodically crawled over the door and into the seat. The creature stood there and watched him until he pulled the door shut. It then dropped to all fours and started moving away, stepping to the side periodically to avoid some of the larger crawling things on the ground.
Peter wiped the sloth’s spittle from his face and stared at his hand. Was it enough to infect him? He looked over at Georgia. She was watching him warily. “If I begin to feel strange, I’ll jump out of the truck. Agreed?”
She nodded, or perhaps it was just her trembling. “Can you drive this truck?”
Peter looked at the dashboard and then at the gear shifter. “I think so. Maybe.”
Abruptly, the earth shook, rocking the truck, and all other sounds became insignificant compared to the ear-splitting roar that flooded Peter’s senses. Debris flew across the street in front of them, including patio furniture and the front half of a boat. Something smashed into the window next to Georgia’s head, cracking the glass and leaving a smear of blood and black feathers. A storage shed tumbled end over end and came to rest in the street in front of them, blocking their way.
The roar gradually faded, replaced by the sounds of objects pelting the roof of the cab, like a nightmarish hail storm.
“Sweet Jesus!” Georgia cried. “They’re bombing Salinas.”
Peter stomped on the clutch and squinted at the gear shifter. It had a diagram of ten different gears. He shoved the shifter left and then down into first and gave it some
gas as he let out the clutch. The truck barely moved.
Georgia leaned over and slammed her hand against a yellow knob on the dash. There was a hiss of air from the brakes and the truck lurched forward.
Peter floored it. The truck struck the storage shed, breaking it open and pushing it out of the way. The engine was already whining, maxed out, so he shifted to second.
“Turn right,” Georgia cried.
Peter cranked the wheel. The nose rounded the corner without a problem, but the trailer hit a car parked on the right and rolled right over it, shaking the cab back and forth as its wheels crashed onto the yard of the corner house and then over the curb back onto the street.
He shifted to third, accelerated, and then shifted to fourth. The road was strewn with debris, but Peter wasn’t stopping for anything. Creatures of every shape and size scattered out of the truck’s path or were crushed beneath it.
“Faster,” Georgia cried. “Get us out of Salinas!”
Peter had it floored, but the truck wouldn’t speed up. He shifted to fifth gear. He wanted to shift to sixth, but the diagram showed it being in the same place as first. What the hell was that supposed to mean? There was a lever on the gear shifter—probably what he needed—but he was too panicked to experiment with it, so he just held the gas pedal to the floor.
As they approached the edge of town, houses and businesses gave way to open fields, and the road became less cluttered with debris.
“Oh no,” Georgia said. She was staring straight ahead.
Peter looked. A fighter jet was flying low over the road, headed straight for them. Just before it passed over, Peter glimpsed two objects separating from the jet, each with its own smoke trail.
Peter clenched his muscles and gripped the wheel. “Hold on!”
The world around them erupted. First, small bits of leaves and dust flew past from behind, then larger chunks of wood and trees, and then vehicles and entire sections of houses. The cab of the truck lurched forward and tipped downward. Peter realized the bunkhouse trailer was no longer on the ground. The trailer wrenched free from the hitch with a violent grinding that could be heard over everything else. He looked in his mirror—the trailer was gone. A shadow passed over the windshield and he stared, dumbstruck, as the entire trailer blew over the cab. It hit the road in front of them and started sliding on its side.
Peter realized they were going to hit it. He tried turning to the right, but it was too late. They crashed into the corner of it, knocking the cab onto its side.
Georgia screamed as the pavement rose up and slammed into her side of the truck. The cab’s momentum then rolled the truck over onto its nose and roof. Peter was thrown from his seat, and he hit his head and shoulder on the ceiling. He was dazed but still aware that the cab was sliding upside down on the road, and then onto dirt. When it hit the weeds it rolled onto its passenger side, dumping him on top of Georgia as it came to a stop.
“Mr. Wooley? Are you okay?”
It seemed like a strange question. He was the one who had fallen on her, and he was still sprawled on top of her. He groaned and tried moving his legs. “I don’t know.” He managed to get off and sit up, which in turn allowed her to sit up. “No broken bones, I suppose.”
“I think I am okay also.”
Peter looked around, becoming aware of their dilemma. The windshield was cracked but still in one piece. The driver window was intact. He looked down. The passenger window was gone, but soil and weeds were pressed against the window frame. At least they were somewhat closed off from the creatures.
Georgia rubbed a bloody spot on her knee. “They bombed Salinas. My home. Mamá and Papá’s home. How could they?”
Peter shook his head. He didn’t know what to say.
“Do you think the bombs killed the animals? All of them?”
Again he shook his head. He turned and looked out the cracked windshield. They were facing away from Salinas, but black smoke wafted by in thick clouds from behind them. Georgia reached out her hand, tears in her eyes, and Peter took her hand and held it. They watched as light objects—paper, ashes, fragments of clothes—fell like snow onto the ground.
Twenty-two
Quentin tried to avoid making sudden movements. Addison watched them warily, his muscles twitching as if he might flee. And from the looks of his sleek, muscular body, if he decided to run there would be no catching him.
Lindsey took a cautious step closer. “Yes, Addison, Newton can come home with us. Did you know Mommy has her own mbolop? His name is Rusty.” She pointed at her tree kangaroo.
Addison looked. “Rusty. Rusty go home, too.”
“That’s right. We’ll all go home together, okay?”
His face formed a grimace, an expression that was not quite a smile. “Where home, Mummy?”
Lindsey took another step closer. She was now within Addison’s reach, which made Quentin tense up, ready to pull her back if there was trouble. She said, “Home is where you used to live. Do you remember your house? It’s in a town called Newton.”
He shifted his gaze to his tree kangaroo and back to Lindsey. “Newton my mbolop.”
“Yes, but Newton is also the place where your home is.”
Addison bared his teeth, this time in a real smile. “That silly, Mummy.”
Lindsey smiled back. “It is silly, isn’t it?”
Quentin cautiously stepped to Lindsey’s side. “Addison, we’ve missed you so much. We came as soon as Samuel told us you were here.”
Addison appraised him silently for a moment. His eyes then scanned the ground around Quentin’s feet. “Where your mbolop, Daddy?”
This took Quentin by surprise. “Well, I don’t have my own mbolop.”
Addison grimaced again, baring his top and bottom canines. “Daddy, you need mbolop.”
“Why, Addison? Why do I need one?”
“You my Daddy. I no want you to die.”
Quentin wasn’t sure how to react to this. He realized he wasn’t breathing and drew a lungful of heavy air.
Lindsey said, “Your dad will get his own mbolop. Maybe you can choose one for him. Would you like to do that?”
Addison grinned broadly and turned to look at the tree kangaroos, which now seemed to be everywhere.
Quentin glared at Lindsey.
“He’s right,” she said softly. “You should have your own.”
Addison was already herding one of the tree kangaroos toward him. Lindsey had put him in a no-win situation. He didn’t want his own mbolop, but the last thing he wanted right now was to turn their reunion with their son into a disaster.
Addison guided the mbolop until it was at Quentin’s feet. It was similar to all the others, although perhaps with more black fur on the tail. The creature looked up at him.
“Your mbolop, Daddy.”
“Thank you, Addison, but I’m not sure I need my own—”
Addison lunged toward Quentin and grabbed his hand. It took all of Quentin’s willpower to not back away. Addison pulled on his hand, urging him to bend over and touch the tree kangaroo.
“Okay, son, okay.”
Addison let go. Quentin held his hand, palm down, in front of the creature’s snout. It sniffed his skin. Then it sat up on its haunches, dug into its abdomen, and produced a pink lump of body tissue. It offered the lump to him.
This was happening too fast. Quentin stepped back. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready to do this.”
Addison frowned, contorting his face in a nonhuman way. “Daddy die with no mbolop.”
“Please,” Lindsey said. “Once you do it, you’ll understand. I promise.”
Why was she pushing this, especially at this moment? “We came here to take Addison home. That’s all I want to do.” He faced Addison. “Are you ready to come home, son?”
Addison’s frown turned into a snarl. Suddenly he snatched the tree kangaroo and hefted it over his head. He was about to throw the creature when Mbaiso jumped in front of him and let out a lamb-like bleat.
Addison hesitated.
Mbaiso moved his forepaws quickly but with precision.
Addison abruptly smiled again. He put the tree kangaroo down and then patted its head apologetically. He turned to Quentin. “Me go home with Mummy and Daddy. But me mad if Daddy die.”
∞
Quentin helped Samuel put the finishing touches on the lean-to shelter. It was too late to hike back to Sinanie’s village, so they had decided to camp beneath the hanging tunnels of the mbolop colony.
Every few minutes Quentin looked over at Addison, fearing he might change his mind and run away—or worse. Lindsey and Addison had been sitting on the ground together, talking and occasionally laughing, for some time. She seemed to be forming a connection with him.
Quentin gave the shelter a good shake to make sure it wouldn’t collapse, and then he approached them cautiously to avoid spooking Addison. As he approached, he saw that they were engaged in some kind of activity, so he quietly sat a few yards away and observed.
Lindsey had her eyes closed. Addison sat with his stubby legs crossed. Rusty and Newton lounged on the ground between them. Within the frame created by Addison’s legs was something he was carefully shielding from view with his hands. He plucked an object from the hidden spot and held it in front of Rusty’s snout. It was a small leaf.
“Color, color!” he said.
“That’s easy, it’s green,” Lindsey said, her eyes still closed.
Addison tossed it aside and produced a piece of bark. “Color, color!”
“That one’s easy, too. It’s brown.”
Addison bobbed his head and laughed with excitement. He pulled a round blue object from his stash. It looked like a berry of some kind. “Color, color!”
“It’s blue, silly.”
His head bobbed again. Next he pulled out a large red flower petal and held it out for Rusty to see. “Color, color!”
Lindsey hesitated. “It’s, um, brown? No, maybe gray?”
Addison howled with laughter and pounded his chest with one hand. “No no, Mummy! No!”
Profusion Page 25
